


and we'll be running

by baeksthighs



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, M/M, Minor Character Death, Recreational Drug Use, Romance, Violence, mafia!au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 19:27:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7451212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baeksthighs/pseuds/baeksthighs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Jongin kisses Sehun like he's making a promise that he can't keep, and Sehun is to much of a sucker to push him away and run.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and we'll be running

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sekaiseoli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sekaiseoli/gifts).



> Written months ago for Josie and I finally decided to crosspost it ;u; Originally posted [here](http://dawnslu.livejournal.com/5255.html). 
> 
> **warnings:** age gap, mentions of past!xiuhan, anxiety, minor character death, recreational drug use, angst, violence

It’s 3:32 A.M when Sehun gets the news and he feels numb. 

He shifts in his spot, blank faced as he blinks at the man standing outside of his door. He isn’t sure what he is supposed to say, isn’t sure what he’s supposed to feel. Is he supposed to mumble a disheartened _thanks for telling me_ or is he supposed to crumble to his knees and sob? 

The man standing in his doorway has cold, dead eyes and an intense gaze. For a moment, Sehun feels the trepidation creep inside of him. 

_Oh Sehun? I have unfortunate news. Your father was killed today._

The words play over and over, and he vaguely wonders how it happened. Had his father been stabbed or shot? Was his body too mangled for a proper funeral service to be held? Perhaps he was strangled and would have purple and brown bruises wrapped around his throat that they’d cover up with a thick layer of make-up. Sehun feels sick suddenly, tongue heavy in his mouth. He swallows, suppresses the urge to vomit, and finally looks into the lifeless eyes before him. 

“When?” He asks. 

“An hour ago. I need you to come with me,” stoneface says. “Under your father’s orders.”

“Excuse me?” 

“Listen, this would be a lot easier if you cooperated,” the man says, voice wearing thin of patience. 

“My father’s dead, I really don’t think he has a right to be giving orders anymore,” Sehun replies flatly, prepared to slam the door and slide back into the cold sheets of his bed. 

A foot wedges itself between the door and the frame, holding it open enough that Sehun can see the man’s eyes piercing at him. “Look, I understand that this a pretty fucking big pill to swallow, but I’m doing what your father ordered me to do and that order is to make sure you’re safe, okay?” 

Sehun feels his own patience dwindling. He’d really rather just slam his door on the man’s foot and leave this moment in the past. 

“My father hasn’t been in contact with me since I was sixteen. Don’t feel guilty for not keeping your word to a corpse.” Tries to shut the door again, the man pushes back. 

“Your father was gunned down and shot twelve times across his chest. The final blow to the head ended him and splattered his brains all over the wall of a cute little diner. Do you really want to take the risk of the same thing happening to you?” His tone is gruff and emotionless like he didn’t just give a young man a too vivid image of his father’s demise, and Sehun’s bitterness is replaced by a gnawing fear. 

He remains silent and backs away from the door. The man invites himself in and shuts it with a loud click behind him. “That’s what I thought. Gather your things, the others are going to have my ass on a platter for taking so long.” 

Sehun thinks the man might be kidding, but something prods at his brain and tells him maybe not. 

He gathers his belongings, his most cherished possessions just in case he doesn’t get a chance to come and collect the rest of his stuff. He grabs up the journal his mother left him, tattered with age and its spine flimsy from overuse, from him flipping through it when he needed some motherly words of wisdom. He grabs up his back, full of textbooks and essays that are due to be turned in by the end of the week. The ring his father left him days prior to cutting off contact stares at him from the surface of his dresser, gleaming emerald and tinted yellow in the moonlight. He strides over and snatches it up, slides it down his third finger on his right hand. 

The moment is bittersweet and interrupted by the man telling him _come on, we gotta be fast_. Sehun is not sure why they have to be fast and why this man is in such a rush, but he decides he’s better off not asking questions when he feels too overwhelmed to stomach any other harsh news. 

The last things he grabs are his sketchbook and his beloved photo album that is filled up with all of his happy memories from his childhood. All of his smiles and proudest moments from the age of 1 to 15 are wrapped up in this book. 

“Got everything?” 

He nods, gripping the strap of his bag like his life depends on it to hold him together. 

“We’ll come back sometime this week to get the rest of your stuff.” And then there’s fingers curling around his bicep, tugging him forward like a child. 

He feels hollow and tied up in knots. The hallways of his complex building are dark and eerily quiet at night, but their footsteps are featherlight. His heart slams in his chest, against his ribs, and he feels like the life he knew was slowly starting to crumble through his fingers like sand. He doesn’t trust the man leading him, but something else tells him he’s better off listening than rebelling. 

“Shouldn’t I know your name?” Sehun asks weakly. Maybe knowing his name would make Sehun feel a little more at ease. It would break the barrier between stranger and acquaintance at least.

The other laughs dryly, “I go by Kai.” 

Kai. One syllable that tastes fake in Sehun’s mouth when he repeats it. Then, he asks, “Your real name?” 

“Isn’t important,” the man— _Kai_ —says. 

The car is a sleek black Kia GT with all black interior and Sehun feels like he’s getting it dirty despite showering earlier in the evening. Kai slides into the driver’s seat, twists the keys in the ignition, and spins off down the street. Buildings and pavement and blurred lights race by in a haze.

Sehun is twenty years old, in a car with a stranger, and he’s very confused. 

 

 

Kkangpae; gang, syndicate. A whole world of illegal activities and prison sentences if you weren’t smart about your actions. 

Sehun wasn’t stupid, he knew damn well the double life his father was leading. A trophy husband and father at home and a ruthless mob boss with too much blood on his hands behind the closed doors of his study. 

Sehun remembers being a child and finding the first hint that his father was not like other fathers. By day, he was the ideal, loving, encouraging father that everyone admired, always starting up a conversation with anyone as if they were his best friend even if they were strangers. It was no secret that his dad was adored by many and Sehun always thought that his dad was the coolest because of it. 

Until one night he had found something that he didn’t think any child should be seeing at the tender age of ten. His mother had fallen asleep on the couch and his father was busy in his study, door locked and hushed whispers coming from behind the wood. As a child, Sehun was curious of everything. Their house was huge and immaculate, secrets behind every door and dark corner that his father would steer him away from, and it only provoked his curiosity. So, with his parents both distracted, he decided to tiptoe to their room. 

Sehun knew he was small enough to hide himself if he needed because he also knew that being in his parents’ room without one of them was an invasion of privacy in his father’s eyes. He wasn’t quite sure what would happen if he were caught in here, but he didn’t think that he wanted to know at all. His father was the definition of intimidating when he was angered and Sehun never wanted to be the one on the receiving end. 

He remembers finding the gun under his father’s pillow that night, and he remembers the way his little hands trembled when they reached out to touch the killing thing. 

Sleep didn’t come easily anymore after that. 

 

“This is where you’ll be sleeping,” Kai tells him, flicking the light on in what Sehun assumes will be his new room. It’s spacious, bare of everything but a desk, a bed, and a dresser. It feels hollow and looks sad and Sehun thinks this must be what he looks like on the inside. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs, shuffling past Kai to set his things on the bed. 

“My room is right across the hall. If you hear noises in the middle of the night, it’s the other guys. If you hear shit breaking or gunshots, you can make an easy escape out of that window,” Kai points. “Although you’d probably get killed either way.” Sehun feels sick. 

_Gunshots_. 

If this place was where his father needed him to be for him to stay safe, then why does he feel so afraid? He feels like he’s being monitored, like one wrong word or one wrong move could cause a war and he doesn’t feel safe at all. He feels afraid and vulnerable and he knows that no one—not this Kai person or anyone else that stays here—will comfort him. 

Sehun has been on his own since he was sixteen, but he’s never felt loneliness like this before. 

“I’ll get you some more blankets. It’s supposed to be cold as hell and you’re a toothpick.” 

Sehun tries to muster a smile of silent thanks, but his lips remain turned down in a frown as he sits on the bed. It’s soft, swallowing him up easily when he flops back. He thinks this will become his new heaven. This bed and this bare room will be all he has until he’s free from the clutches of whatever is unfolding in his father’s world; free from whatever is threatening him and putting him at stake. 

It’s a terrifying feeling to be kept in the dark but Sehun thinks he’s better off not knowing certain things and this is one of them. Not tonight anyway. He needs time to let reality settle because he’s still praying that he wakes up in a cold sweat any second. 

Kai returns moments later, blankets wadded up in his arms. He drops them at the end of the bed. “Try to get some sleep. You look like shit.” Sehun watches him leave, door closing behind him with a soft click. 

Sehun doesn’t sleep at all, too wound up and too paranoid with his mind racing. His heart feels like a brick in his chest and his breathing comes in labored, heavy breaths, legs restless and moving around every five seconds. It feels like trying to escape the confines of his body, and honestly he wouldn’t mind. He can think of a million better places to be than in this empty room with a house full of gangsters with loaded guns and blood on their hands. 

Kai seems rather reserved, but he has the hands of a killer—there’s not a gangster in the world that doesn’t—and God knows how many skeletons in his closet. 

Sehun does not want to be around long enough to find out. 

 

 

To be initiated into the mob, one must undergo trials of loyalty. Initiation usually takes place in a dark room surrounded by men with guns and the boss sitting at a table. There would be a card in the middle of the table with a skull on it and gun and a knife on top of it; a .38 and what gangsters call a “dagger”. The boss would make them repeat the code of silence and then the second-hand man would puncture the tip of a finger with the knife and let the crimson spill onto the card, symbolizing a birth into the family; a blood bond that wouldn’t be broken until death. Then, they would set the card on fire and quickly pass it around.

Sehun thinks about how fucked up it is and knowing that he’s in a house full of men that went through this initiation at one point does not settle well in his stomach. 

Morning greets him with a loud knock on his door just as he feels his eyes sliding shut, causing his heart to leap into his throat at the sudden ruckus. 

“Yo, new guy! Breakfast is out here, c’mon!” The voice isn’t Kai’s. It’s softer, nicer.

Still, Sehun doesn’t trust anyone. 

The only reason he stumbles out of bed is so none of the other’s come and harass him. 

It’s blindingly bright when he steps out of his room. The sun pours in from every angle, extending down the hall and bouncing off of the white walls, ricocheting off the hardwood floors and right into Sehun’s eyes. Sehun blinks and trudges forward. His body is a deadweight that he’s having trouble keeping up from the pure exhaustion. 

The end of the hall leads him to the living room where two men occupy the black wrap around couch in a rather compromising position; one straddling the other and the other laughing and pushing in weak retaliation.

That’s something Sehun certainly didn’t expect to see. 

In the kitchen is where the rest of the men sit. Forks and knives scrape and clank against plates, the sound irritating and making Sehun want to grind his teeth. All eyes land on him a moment later and he feels scrutinized; transparent like they can see right through him. There’s one man in particular that has an intense gaze with feline eyes and perfectly bowed lips. His ears are pierced from the lobe up and his eyes are lined with black kohl. 

Sehun fights off the urge to shudder. 

There’s another man next to feline eyes and he’s broad with a face like ice and hair as white as snow falling above his eyes. Next to ice man sits a man that is fairly pretty, Sehun thinks. His eyes are big and his lips are the prettiest color of pink, his skin porcelain and his shoulders narrow. He doesn’t have much of a build to him but the black singlet insists that he’s toned and lean. Honestly, Sehun would guess that he’s about his age.

“We’re not plotting your death, if that’s what you’re thinking,” another small man with a thick build and equally thick lips says. “Baekhyun, Chanyeol, come eat.” Then he looks at Sehun again, “You too.” 

“You still look like hell, Oh Sehun,” Kai finally pipes up from the far end of the table. Sehun tries not to notice that he’s not wearing a shirt at all. He’s the only one without so it really makes it impossible not to focus on the dips and contours of defined lines and prominent collarbones. 

“I didn’t sleep,” Sehun says. 

The one with the eyes kicks a chair back so it slides away from the table and he gestures for Sehun to sit. Sehun doesn’t think it would be smart of him to decline.

“Don’t mind Zitao,” someone else says, slapping a hand over Sehun’s shoulder. “He thinks he’s badass because he’s part of the mob and looks like he could kill with that stare of his. He’s harmless.” The guy has a kind smile that stretches over his face and puppy shaped eyes with a cute nose and fluffy black hair that Sehun kind of wants to pet.

“Oh, I’m Baekhyun,” he says and shoves his hand into Sehun’s. “Jongin didn’t tell you our names, did he?” 

“Who’s Jo—” Kai, or rather _Jongin_ , pinches the bridge of his nose and Sehun _oh_ ’s. “You couldn’t tell me that before?” 

“Ah,” this Baekhyun character hums, “he told you his name was Kai, right?” 

Sehun nods. “Street name. A lot of gang members use them to keep their real selves hidden. Jongin here just thinks it sounds cool,” Baekhyun points, eyes twinkling in amusement at Jongin’s displeased expression. 

“Thank you for that, Baekhyun,” Jongin sighs. He looks over at Sehun as he takes a seat in the chair Zitao had kicked out for him. “Anyway, Sehun these are the guys. Zitao, Yifan, Luhan,”—so that’s pretty boy’s name—“Yixing, Junmyeon, Jongdae, Chanyeol, and Kyungsoo.”

On the surface, they look like regular guys. Baekhyun, Chanyeol, and Luhan all remind Sehun of his friends at college; kind smiles and cheerfulness radiating as they exchange playful banter and steal bites of each other’s food. But, just like everything else, the surface of something is only a mask that disguises and hides horrible secrets tucked away in dark corners and tight crevices. 

Sehun is sitting at a table full of murders, thieves, drug dealers, and psychopaths and they’re all laughing like everything in the world is hunky dory. 

There’s a sick feeling settling in Sehun’s gut. 

Kyungsoo slides a plate of toast, eggs, and two slices of watermelon in front of Sehun. “You should eat,” Kyungsoo tells him softly. 

 

 

Sehun doesn’t get to attend his father’s funeral. He asks why, tight lipped and watery eyed, and Jongin only tells him that he’ll explain later. 

Sehun feels lost. 

 

 

Something about Luhan doesn’t sit right with Sehun, he decides. He’s like the typical guy to pull a sweetheart scam, bat his pretty long lashes and distract whatever sorry fuck is gullible enough to fall for it while Luhan slides a knife through their gut and twists until they’re bleeding out on the ground. 

Same goes for Baekhyun. Baekhyun is one of those guys that keeps the group laughing even in the midst of gang related activities. It’s like he has a split personality; one side is the fun, carefree bestfriend that everyone adores and the other side is a disturbed individual hungry for bloodshed. 

Chanyeol is almost a carbon copy of Baekhyun except he’s taller and muscular. Sehun thinks they’re together, he catches them holding hands and sneaking away when the other’s are not paying attention and, unless it’s some “work” related thing, Sehun is sure that they’re sneaking away for more intimate reasons. 

His assumption is confirmed one night when the usually silent house is filled with Baekhyun’s shameless moans to which Jongdae stomps up the stairs and bangs at the door while yelling, “Can you two please keep your gross lovemaking down! Some of us are still trying to digest our dinner!” 

The only response he gets is Chanyeol loudly saying, “Sorry Dae, my dick is just too good!” 

Sehun burns from his ears all the way down his neck and Luhan laughs, poking at his cheek. “Never heard two people going at it that wasn’t yourself, Sehun?” 

_Not even that_ , Sehun wants to say but instead he shakes his head and sinks further into the couch. He glances up. Jongin is staring at him, hooded eyes sweeping over every inch of Sehun’s body and it’s almost infuriating that it makes Sehun blush harder.

“Uh, yeah. It’s a bit strange, you could say,” Sehun shrugs. 

“I can distract you from the awkwardness,” Luhan hints, hand sliding up Sehun’s thigh. 

Sehun all but squeaks, quickly slapping his hands over Luhan’s to prevent his wandering hand from wandering any higher. Someone snorts and that sets off a chain reaction of laughter around him. 

“Virgin,” Zitao says once he’s calmed down enough to speak. Sehun wants to hide his face. 

“That also puts all of you perverts in a real tough spot. Sehun is a virgin and you’re all gangsters, do you really think he’ll wanna fuck any of you?” Jongin asks, eyebrow raised smugly. 

The laughter dies out all at once and Luhan _tsks_ under his breath. “You may be right Jongin, but that’s okay. I’ve got plenty of side chicks and dicks.” 

The thing about these men, Sehun thinks, is that they’re all so good at making him feel like he’s with a group of close friends from college that it’s sickening. Sehun was always the more reserved one that would toss in a witty remark here and there, but he just finds himself listening and wondering how old these guys must be. 

They joke around and talk about stupid things like sex and what hot idol they’d like to stick it in like teenagers do, and their faces are youthful; all dewy skin and strong jawlines.

“How old are you guys?” Sehun blurts. 

He start plucking nervously at his pants, suddenly finding the rips and tears to be very interesting. 

“Why do you ask?” 

“Maybe he wants a sugar daddy,” Luhan hums. 

Sehun’s eyes widen and his arms flail, “No! No, that’s—that’s not why I’m asking at all.” 

Luhan laughs at Sehun for the millionth time that night and it’s just as annoying and embarrassing as the first time.

“It’s just that, well, you guys all seem so young and… stuff.” 

“How old do we look?” Jongin asks, leaning forward. 

“My age.” 

“What do you know, skin care routines really do work,” Junmyeon pats at his cheeks. 

“The youngest person here is Zitao and he’s twenty-three. Luhan is twenty-six and the rest of us are twenty-five.” 

“You all look so young…” 

“Are you trying to say we’re old?” Kyungsoo questions. 

“No! I’m just…” 

“You were just expecting a bunch of cold hearted murderers with bulging guts and receding hairlines, right?” 

“Maybe.” 

“Your father was very specific about the family. He was smart about who he invited in.” 

Sehun smiles sadly, “Yeah. He was the smartest guy I knew.” 

It gets quiet and then Jongin clears his throat, “I think they’re done up there. Bed time?” 

 

 

One night after everyone else has already gone up to bed, Sehun asks Jongin why he’s so hell bent on keeping his word. Jongin plucks a cigarette from the pack of Marlboro’s in his pocket, places the death stick between his lips and lights it. He leans his head against the back of the couch and thick smoke filters out of his mouth. 

“Your father saved my sorry ass more than once. And, when shit started going down, he asked me to make sure nothing happened to you in the midst of it all. Things seem fine now, but it’s only a matter of time,” he takes another long drag. “I intend to keep your ass alive and get you back to your normal life when it’s all over.” 

Sehun is slowly beginning to trust Jongin, and he can’t decide if that’s a foolish thing to do or not. It probably is. He hasn’t seen the worst of this—or of Jongin—yet, but what is he supposed to do when he has no one else? 

Sehun watches the smoke flow from thick, parted lips before he reaches up and snatches the cigarette out of Jongin’s mouth, stubbing it out in the ashtray on the coffee table. “You’ll get lung cancer or something.”

Jongin’s laugh is hollow, “No. If anything’s going to kill me in this life it’s going to be the gun and the knife.” 

That statement makes something cold settle in Sehun’s bones. 

 

 

Sehun wonders what Jongin was like before gang life. He wonders what Jongin would be like without it. Did Jongin have goals in life before? Did he have hobbies? Friends? People he loved? What about his real family? 

As far as Sehun is concerned, Jongin is a hollowed out building and everything of his past tucked away somewhere in the depths of his heart. 

He’s cold and blunt and Sehun can’t judge him on it or call him out on it because he doesn’t know _anything_. All he knows is that Jongin is twenty-five, he wears the tattoo like a badge of honor, and he isn’t afraid of dying. 

Something about that is both terrifying and intriguing. 

Some nights, Jongin comes back looking like hell, lips busted up and eyes bruising some awful rainbow of green and blackening purple, but something like victory is always settled in the depths of his warm brown eyes. There’s blood on his hands. 

 

 

“Take this,” Luhan tosses a gun in Sehun’s lap. It’s heavy and cold and Sehun feels nauseous looking at it. 

“Wha—” 

“There’s going to be a raid soon and you don’t have the tattoo. You’ll be shot on the spot if anyone notices.” 

The words slice through Sehun, ice in his lungs when his blood runs cold, and it’s only a matter of seconds before he finds himself shaking like a leaf. Luhan’s predicting his death as if it’s a casual thing—and Sehun’s sure it is in Luhan’s world—and the detached way he speaks of it is unnerving. 

“What do you look so scared for?” Luhan snorts. 

“... I don’t want to die?” 

Luhan’s lips twitch, “That’s the fun part of it all. The chaos of it.” 

“Luhan,” comes a warning voice. It’s Kyungsoo. “He’s not one of us, don’t treat the situation as if it’s something he’s used to.” 

Kyungsoo is level headed and Sehun is thankful. Luhan rolls his eyes and goes back to rummaging through the bag full of guns and knives. The death bag. The way his eyes glimmer as his fingers slide over each weapon sets off a series of thoughts. Sehun wonders if that’s the look on Luhan’s face when he puts the cold muzzle of a gun to someone’s temple and applies pressure to the trigger. 

“Whatever Soo. He’ll never learn anything if we keep him shielded from the ugly parts of this life,” Luhan says sharply.

“He was never invited to be a member. We were ordered to protect him.” 

“And you also know how impossible it is to keep someone safe when there’s guns firing from all angles. If protecting someone were possible then Minseok would still be—”

Something in Sehun’s gut lurches when Luhan’s breath stutters. _Oh_. 

“Luhan—” 

Luhan holds his hand up to stop Kyungsoo from talking. “I have to go do a drug trade. Make sure to have dinner waiting when I get back, hm sweetcheeks?” He pokes the swell of Kyungsoo’s cheek and saunters away, leaving a whole new slew of questions hanging in the air. 

Kyungsoo lets out a breath and trudges upstairs, shoulders tense. Sehun holds the gun up. His tongue glues itself to the roof of his mouth and he can feel bile rising in his throat, climbing and climbing, the thought of having to use this on someone to keep himself alive making him panic out of control. 

There’s a pressure in his chest, squeezing around his ribs. His tongue grows heavy and his mouth feels watery. He dry heaves and then bolts to the bathroom where he empties the contents of his stomach, and the shaking doesn’t stop. The white around him—tile, walls, porcelain of the toilet—all blur together. 

“Sehun?” The voice sounds muffled and slow. 

“Shit, Sehun. Are you okay? Fuck, let me get a cold rag.” 

Sehun grips the toilet bowl so hard that his knuckles are turning white. He closes his eyes and breathes through his nose slowly. In and out, in and out. The pressure in his chest doesn’t lift, but there’s a cold rag at the back of his neck and a hand pushing his hair away from his forehead and it’s enough to ground him. 

“You with me?” 

There’s a noticeable flash of concern in Jongin’s eyes. “What the hell happened?” 

Sehun swallows, “I don’t know.” Inhale, exhale. “I was holding a gun Luhan gave me and then I panicked. I haven’t had an attack in a long time… but, I don’t know, it was just…” 

He can see how Jongin’s jaw tightens just before the tanned male glances down, lips twitching like he wants to speak but all that leaves his mouth is a distressed sigh. He stands up, detached and cold. “You should go rest for a while,” Jongin says. 

Jongin leaves without another word and Sehun flushes the toilet before he stands on shaky legs.

 

 

Sometimes, Sehun wonders what it feels like to take someone’s life. 

What kind of satisfaction can a person gain from putting a gun to the head or a dagger to the throat? What goes through someone’s head when blood starts gushing? Are they satisfied when the only sign that this person had once been a living, breathing human with fears and wants and people they loved is nothing but an empty shell floating in a crimson river? Do murderers even think before they kill? 

He doesn’t know and he doesn’t wish to know. 

No matter what situation he’s in, Sehun will never take someone’s life from them. He will not follow in his father’s footsteps. 

 

 

“Luhan’s right, you know.” 

“Huh?” 

“I know he was an ass about it, but it’s just his way of showing that he cares about your well being. You don’t have a tattoo, Sehun. Anyone figures out that you’re an outsider they’ll blow your head off, no questions asked.” 

“... That’s comforting.” 

“Do you know how to shoot?”

“I can’t.” 

“I’ll teach yo—”

“Jongin, I _can’t_.” 

“You will. When it comes down to your life or theirs, you’ll find your finger on the trigger in a nanosecond. It’s a knee jerk reaction.” 

“Is that how you felt about all of the people you killed?” 

“I wish.” 

 

 

Sehun wakes up to the sound of gunshots. Glass breaks. A loud thump follows. There’s shouting, voices booming and spitting a string of threats and colorful slurs.

Fear lodges itself in between his ribs, curls around his throat like a chokehold. There’s more gunshots and more shouting. He thinks he hears Baekhyun and Luhan. There’s a thick feeling in his throat and he can’t bring himself to swallow down the anxiety as he sits up and inches a shaky hand over to the top drawer in the night stand by his bed. 

He feels around, feels the cold metal of the killing thing against his palm. He doesn’t know why he’s picking it up or why he starts walking towards the door. He feels like throwing up and his chest squeezes as he presses his ear against the door, listening to the meshing voices and things being tossed around and broken. 

He wonders where Jongin is. A moment of panic tells him that he could have possibly been taken out by the first round of fire and, when he imagines Jongin splayed out on top of a puddle of seeping blood, he has to suppress the urge to vomit. 

_Inhale._

_Exhale._

More gunshots.

His hand tightens around the door knob. He twists it slowly, carefully, afraid that any sound he makes will instantly make him out to be a target. His heart is hammering in his chest, working its way up his throat. Then, all the while holding his breath, he eases the door open centimeter by centimeter. 

He peeks his head out just in time to see a man hold his gun up, aim it, and fire. 

_“Baekhyun, move!”_

Everything seems to slow down in that moment, Chanyeol’s shouting drowning out all of the other noises. Baekhyun’s body jerks back, a wail leaves his lips, and he collapses with his hand covering the wound in his chest. 

“No!” Chanyeol shouts, dropping to his knees by Baekhyun’s body. The shuddery intake of breath and the choked back sobs are heartbreaking and Sehun finds it hard to breath. 

The man that shot Baekhyun stands there, his smirk turning into a grin of satisfaction, and it’s sickening. Sehun’s stomach churns.

“C’mon baby, stay with me. Keep your eyes open, Baek. Please. _Please_.” Chanyeol’s pleas are desperate. Baekhyun is mumbling something so quietly that it all sounds like gibberish. 

Sehun feels like he should do something. He feels like he should hold his gun up and fire until the man is laid out and bleeding. Another part of him wants to shut the door and hide out and cry. He stares at the loaded gun in his hand, blinking back tears and biting his lip as if weighing out his options. 

Then, out of his peripheral vision, he sees Chanyeol stand. He brings his gun up, aims it, fires once, twice, thrice. One more. A fifth time. Blood sprays. 

Five bullets. Death. 

Chanyeol lowers his gun and bends back down to Baekhyun. There’s no more gunshots, just the sound of Chanyeol sobbing. 

 

 

Chanyeol killed for Baekhyun because he loves him. 

Sehun can’t decide if that’s some form of romance in their world or if it’s twisted. 

All he knows is that after discovering that Jongin had been outside to hold off more enemies from entering the home, he had let out a sigh of relief and the trembling in his hands had eased. 

 

 

They have to relocate. 

It’s not surprising. Last night was only the beginning of something chaotic. Everything feels tense now, like tiptoeing around shards of broken glass.

“We’re going to be staying at the hideout,” Jongin informs Sehun as he helps the younger boy gather his things up. “And Yixing said Baekhyun will be okay. He just has to take it easy.” 

Sehun hums, “How did Yixing know what to do?” 

There’s a ghost of a smile on Jongin’s lips, “His father was a doctor back in China. One of the best. Yixing learned through watching him.” 

“Did he want to be a doctor?” 

Jongin’s smile fades, “No. He used to dance, that’s why he came to Korea. His father didn’t approve, cut Yixing off, and your father rescued him from the streets.” 

For a moment, Sehun feels proud of his father for helping someone and giving them a life and the tools they need to stand on their own two feet. But look at the life that his father had given him; a life revolved around killing, stealing, drug trafficking, extortion, and running from the law. 

It’s a death sentence waiting to happen. It’s not a life. 

At one point they all must have had dreams, Sehun thinks. Maybe dreams of being dancers, idols, doctors, lawyers. Maybe they dreamed of settling down with someone and having a few kids. Chanyeol and Baekhyun would make great fathers. 

“I see,” Sehun finally says. 

“I think you’re all set,” says Jongin, grabbing up the tattered journal that Sehun holds dear to his heart. “Don’t forget this.” 

Sehun smiles, shakes his head. “Never.” 

 

 

Sehun didn’t expect the hideout to be a lavish place. Hideouts usually aren’t. But what he walks into definitely is worse than he pictured. 

He’s not even sure that it’s able to be occupied by humans. It’s a corpse, basically. There’s insulation poking out of where the wall has been busted and torn apart and puddles of water pooling on the cement, dirt and wet cigarettes floating about. In the corner, there’s a glass pipe, the bottom burned brown from what Sehun can only classify as the wear and tear of drug use. There’s an ugly couch with a thick layer of dust coating it like a second skin and the table in front of it looks like it could fall to pieces at any moment, littered with cigarettes and lighters and traces of white residue that makes Sehun scrunch his nose with distaste. 

“We haven’t been here for a while,” Yixing says. “Not since M—” he looks to Luhan, sentence caught in his throat like he’s scared to finish it. 

Luhan rolls his eyes. “Not since Minseok was murdered. It’s okay to say it, it’s not like I’m going to have a mental breakdown over it.” 

Yixing reaches over and squeezes Luhan’s shoulder and Sehun sees the flash of longing and regret flicker in his doe like eyes. It’s only a glimpse, and then Luhan pushes a smile on to his face and playfully whacks Yixing on the cheek. “Wanna room with me?”

Yixing nods and then they’re both rounding a corner and disappearing down the hallway, chatting and laughing as if this Minseok person was never brought up. Sehun blinks. 

The place smells like dirty water and toxic fumes; the air is thick and sticky. It’s sickening but it’s home for now. 

Beside him, Jongin lets out a breath. “It’s not the best place, but very few people know where it is. Gangs, I mean. It’s safe here. Sort of.” 

There’s an ugly bruise turning yellow and brown around Jongin’s eye. It’s still slightly swollen, but compared to how it looked the previous day it looks remarkably better. Even like this, with bruised and swollen skin, under the horrible piss colored lighting, Jongin is still devastatingly beautiful and Sehun finds himself tongue-tied. 

“C’mon, our room is this way.” 

Sehun flushes, “Our?” 

Jongin adjusts the strap of his bag on his shoulder, avoiding Sehun’s question, and Sehun falls into step easily with him. There’s an annoying light in the hall that flickers, drawing attention to itself and the longer Sehun stares the more annoyed he gets. It almost feels like walking through a haunted house on Halloween and waiting for a monster to pop out and send you running toward the exit so you could go home and sleep with every light in the house on. 

Except, for Sehun, there is no going _home_. There is only this. 

The room is bare save for two very uncomfortable looking beds. The sheets look worn and thin and Sehun is positive that these beds are caked with dust that’ll fill his lungs each time he moves during the night. 

They get settled in silence. Jongin shakes out his blankets and Sehun mimics him, coughing when he inhales a million dust particles and Jongin laughs quietly. Sehun, for some ridiculous reason, feels himself tinge with embarrassment. It’s an odd feeling, unbeknownst to him why he even feels embarrassed, and he’s sure that the strange pull in his stomach wasn’t there before. 

There’s less tension now. Sehun still feels on edge more often than not, but he finds himself more at ease when Jongin is around, and that’s a whole different kind of feeling that he doesn’t want to think about. It makes him anxious and lightheaded to even think about Jongin in _that_ way. 

Sehun is only here until they sort their shit out and Jongin is only playing guardian until then. 

 

 

“I’d like to raise this joint as a toast to me surviving another near death experience,” Baekhyun sighs almost happily, holding a freshly rolled joint between his forefinger and thumb, twirling it around. “Fellas, to kicking death in the face once again. Yeol, light me up.” He places the joint between his lips and Chanyeol flicks the lighter.

Sehun bites his lip and stares, hands folded in his lap and his eyes a little wide. Never in his twenty years of living has he ever come this close to any type of drug. It’s always been something that was at the far end of the room with a clique of delinquents whenever he was at a party. He watches as they pass it around, each of them taking long drags, the joint glowing orange at the tip and thick clouds of smoke creating a haze around them. Sehun inhales too deeply and is promptly sent into a coughing fit. 

“I guess Sehun won’t be having any. Shit Xing, you always get the best stuff,” Luhan says hoarsely and whistles. He passes the joint over to Yixing. 

“What can I say, it’s one of my many talents besides stitching up bullet wounds,” Yixing shrugs casually. 

When the joint reaches Jongin, he hesitates for a moment before he reaches out slowly to take it between his fingers. Sehun’s throat is suddenly dry as he (unintentionally) watches thick lips wrap around the end and, when Jongin exhales, it’s sinful looking. Sehun feels impossibly hot and embarrassed and very out of place. 

Lowering his head, he tries to focus on other things such as the rips in his jeans and the spot on the floor where there’s a very noticeable blood stain. 

“Hey, Sehun,” Jongin says. Sehun looks up only to have Jongin flick his lower lip. 

“What was that fo—” 

Sehun doesn’t get a chance to complete his sentence because Jongin blows a cloud of smoke right into Sehun’s open mouth and he’s thrown into another coughing fit, his lungs burning and squeezing. “Are you… trying to kill me?” He wheezes out between coughs. 

Jongin laughs, “Just wanted to see your reaction.” He takes another drag and this time Sehun is sure he glares. 

The other guys laugh and Sehun stares Jongin down, deciding whether or not he’s going to allow himself to be the laughing stock of a bunch of high gangsters. 

He chooses not, turning his body and arching his brow. “Why didn’t you go for it? Get a real reaction out of me?” 

This time Jongin is the one to start coughing. 

“What,” he sputters. 

“You heard me,” Sehun says. 

They lock eyes. Sehun can see Jongin’s lips twitching into a smirk and he knows that he has won the moment Jongin brings the joint back up to his pretty lips. “Alright, Tinker Bell.” 

Sehun is lucky that he’s good at playing cavalier because he’s an absolute mess on the inside. He’s going to allow this to happen—hell, he’s _asking_ for it to happen—and he has no idea what he’s getting himself into. This is the first daring thing he’s done in his life and the adrenaline is both thrilling and terrifying. 

“Open up,” Jongin tells him. 

Fingers curl softly under Sehun’s jaw and he parts his lips, heart hammering against his ribs as Jongin leans in closer. Their mouths almost touch, a barely there brush of lips, and Sehun can feel something electric brewing between them, like if their lips were to touch they’d create some sort of explosion. 

Maybe he caught a secondhand high or something, he doesn’t know. 

He can hear the other guys whistling lowly when Jongin pushes the smoke into Sehun’s mouth, fingers never leaving Sehun’s jaw. Sehun doesn’t cough this time, surprisingly, and it’s not as bad as he thought it would be. It’s not a great feeling and he’s sure his lungs are cursing him out, but it’s nice after he starts feeling a little warm on the inside. 

Jongin’s eyes are bloodshot and his pupils are blown but he’s giggling as he stubs the joint out on the surface of the coffee table, adding another burn mark amongst the millions of others, and he looks cute and boyish like this. 

“Well,” Luhan claps his hands together, “Sehun’s got some balls, who knew!” 

Sehun rolls his eyes and shoves Luhan hard. 

 

 

“Jongin, who was Minseok?” Sehun asks later that night when they’re in their room. The blankets smell like dirt and dust and like they’ve been sitting inside of a washer for too long (which clearly isn’t the case). 

Sehun has long since come down, but the way Jongin speaks slow and punctuates each sentence with a quiet giggle tells Sehun that Jongin isn’t quite all there yet. 

“He was Luhan’s.” Possessive. _Luhan’s_. “And Luhan was his.” 

Sehun feels like that’s only the romanticized, simple version. There’s more to tell, but Sehun isn’t sure if he should push it. 

“And he was murdered, right?” 

Jongin laughs dryly, “Well he’s certainly not with us anymore. Luhan loved him, and I haven’t seen him love anything or anyone as much since,” he sighs. “They loved each other so much that they were going to get married somewhere, probably in a shithole chapel with a hideous set up, but they wouldn’t have cared.” 

When Sehun says nothing, Jongin continues. “He was gunned down and they dropped his body outside of the door here, a hole right in the center of his forehead. The motherfuckers didn’t even have the decency to close his eyes and that’s what hit Luhan the most. I mean, could you ever imagine staring into the dead, lifeless eyes of the person you’re in love with?” 

Sehun tries to swallow, the nagging feeling of remorse and sorrow nestling in his chest. 

“After that, Luhan took out every member of IKON all the same way they took Minseok. Bullet in the head, bodies dropped off to the remaining members until there was none left. He’s the sneakiest one we have and, after Minseok died, he became the most ruthless and I never thought I’d see anyone more ruthless than Kyungsoo.”

Then, very quietly, Sehun can’t help but ask, “Has anyone ever been taken from you?” 

“I could give you an endless list. Falling in love in this lifestyle is the worst thing a gangster could do for themselves and for the other person. One person becomes a target for revenge while the other is left to suffer and succumb to the same level that every gangster vows to never sink to,” Jongin pauses, draws in a shaky breath. “It’s an endless cycle. Love and murder are the same thing.”

Jongin sounds detached again but it’s tinged with a sadness that brings Sehun to an awful realization. 

_Jongin must have lost someone he loved a lot._

“Get some sleep, Oh Sehun.” 

 

 

The lines start blurring sometime a week later. 

When Jongin goes out in the streets, Sehun will anxiously wait his return. When Jongin cracks anything relative to a smile, Sehun has to try to fight back his own. When Jongin falls asleep and snores away softly, Sehun wants to crawl in the spot next to him and curl against his body. 

Sehun’s had feelings for people before, the whole butterflies-in-stomach-make-you-feel-like-throwing-up-but-in-a-totally-good-way thing going on. Those were all mere crushes that never escalated into anything more, but whatever he’s feeling for Jongin is nothing like that. It’s different; unexplainable. It’s like wants to hold ice over Jongin’s bruises and make him laugh and Sehun doesn’t think anything good will come from feeling like this. 

He has seen what comes from loving a criminal and he will not make the same choices that his mother made with his father. They were in love, yes, but his mother was so anxiety ridden with worrying about his father that she couldn’t even sleep unless he was home, safe and sound. 

It’s all just a fleeting feeling, he tells himself. Jongin is physically pleasing to the eye and Sehun is with him more often than not and so it’s perfectly natural that he would develop a crush. 

Whatever he thinks he’s feeling will be over in a week’s time. 

 

 

Except it’s not. 

A week’s time brings him to now and now he’s sitting opposite of Jongin on the couch, his back against the arm and Jongin’s back against the other. Jongin has a joint lit and placed between his lips, his bloodshot eyes set on Sehun, and thick smoke rolling out of his mouth. Sehun watches and when Jongin beckons him forward he’s quick to oblige. 

There’s a pause and Sehun stops just centimeters away from Jongin’s lips as Jongin takes a long drag, cheeks hollowing out and his lips fitted perfectly around the tip. Sehun blinks his tired eyes, wets his lips subconsciously. Hands come up to cup his face, warm and calloused, and Jongin tugs him forward. 

When their lips meet, it’s a light brush, barely there again, and smoke flows from Jongin’s mouth to Sehun’s, and when it finally dissipates, Sehun surges forward to claim Jongin’s lips completely. It’s stupid on his part because Jongin has criminal blood pumping through his veins and red stained hands, but his lips taste like lip balm and addiction and Sehun’s always had a habit of overindulging. 

It’s a clumsy scramble into Jongin’s lap, and Jongin ends up giggling into Sehun’s mouth, but once he’s seated and has his fingers curled against Jongin’s scalp, it’s nothing but nimble hands grabbing wherever they please and muted groans mixed with more giggling. The kisses, messy and desperate, are dizzying and Sehun thinks Jongin has more of an effect on him than the weed ever could.

“I don’t think this is how shotgunning is supposed to go,” Sehun mumbles. 

Jongin pulls back to take one last drag before he leans up to stub the joint out, and then he’s back to kissing Sehun without a word, nipping and teasing his lower lip until it feels bruised. Hands move down Sehun’s sides and pull him forward so their hips are smashed together and like this Sehun can feel Jongin hard against his groin. 

There’s a fleeting moment of panic because not only has Sehun never gotten past heated make-outs and hickies, but Jongin is also _older_ and much more _experienced_. 

“Wait, Jongin—I’m not, I mean I’ve never…” It’s so hard to process words when his brain is fogged up and his body is in sensory overload. Jongin sucks hard at the juncture of where his neck and shoulder meet, pulling a loud gasp from Sehun, and another when Jongin rolls his hips up so their clothed cocks brush beneath the thick layer of fabric of their sweats. 

“It’s fine, just…” Jongin leaves the rest of his sentence hanging in the air in favor of pushing Sehun back only to drag him forward to get his point across. “Do this, move your hips,” he says lowly, roughly, and Sehun shudders. 

And Sehun does. Jongin keeps his grip on Sehun’s hips and Sehun uses his common sense collected from years of watching softcore porn to move his hips in a way that feels good for the both of them, grinding down, rolling slowly, and then repeating at a quicker pace. He switches between fast and slow and it has moans rumbling deep in Jongin’s chest. 

Sehun is so wound up, cock hard and aching and he’d much rather have skin to skin contact, but he’s already too close to pause and the friction is amazing. Beneath him, Jongin moves his hips up and his head falls back when the blunt heads of their cocks brush under the layers of clothing. “Shit,” Jongin swallows, lifting his head to watch how Sehun rocks against him. “Fuck Sehun, faster.” 

Sehun moans at the demand, braces his hands on Jongin’s strong shoulders, and rolls his hips hard and fast until he comes hot and filthy in his underwear. His body trembles through the aftershocks and Jongin takes it upon himself to do the work now, grinding up against Sehun’s twitching cock until he tenses and comes. 

Sehun feels boneless, slumping forward into Jongin’s chest, breathing hard and uneven as he closes his eyes and relishes in the two highs he’s starting to come down from. Jongin’s arms fall lazily to his sides and his heart thunders under Sehun’s ear, but he doesn’t make Sehun move nor does he himself try to move. 

They lay there all sated and blissed out and Sehun really doesn’t like how right it feels. 

 

 

It’s a repetitive cycle after that. Every chance they get to be alone, they spend it jerking each other off or grinding their cocks together until they come. If Sehun weren’t a virgin he’s sure Jongin would have fucked him on every surface in this dingy place, but Jongin doesn’t even try. There’s no pressure and Sehun is both surprised and relieved at the same time. 

There is, however, a nagging feeling that tells him he needs to put an end to it. He has every reason to keep his distance, but Jongin’s lips are soft and warm and they feel like they belong on Sehun’s, and that is a scary realization. 

Realizing that something feels right with someone who is so wrong for him almost feels like he’s granting his own death sentence because, no matter how you look at it, there’s no happy ending. Death would be waiting for them at every corner; Sehun for being with Jongin and becoming a target, and Jongin because of his lifestyle. 

Sometimes Jongin kisses Sehun like he’s making a promise that he can’t keep, and Sehun is too much of a sucker to push him away and run. 

 

 

“Her name was Soojung,” Jongin says one night when Sehun’s head is pillowed against his bicep. 

“Hm?”

“The person they took from me. It was Soojung,” Jongin repeats. “We were highschool sweethearts. The last time I saw her she was smiling and telling me that she loved me. My last memory of her was a happy one. That doesn’t happen often in this life.” 

Glancing up, Sehun catches how Jongin’s eyes shine. It’s pitch black in the room but the moonlight spills a bluish color through the dirty window, casting shadows and bouts of light across Jongin’s face. It’s almost serene, though the dread of tomorrow’s dangers weigh in on Sehun’s mind. Jongin calms him.

“Oh,” Sehun breathes. 

“Her body was never recovered, but I’m thankful for that in a way. I never wanted my last memory of her to be a bad one,” Jongin says and it sounds like he’s smiling, but his lips are pressed together in a thin line, still kiss swollen from just moments prior. 

There’s a beat of silence before Sehun swallows and says: “Why are you telling me this?” 

“Because you can’t get more involved than _this_ ,” Jongin gestures, and Sehun gets it. “If we get more into this than we already are then I won’t be keeping my word at all.” 

Disappointment stirs in Sehun’s chest. He doesn’t understand. If anything, he should be relieved. He should be happy that Jongin put a barrier up so he didn’t have to worry about their relationship progressing, but he’s not. Not at all. 

Sehun swallows dryly, “I won’t, I promise.” 

He’s lying. 

 

 

Sehun draws Jongin some nights. 

He draws Jongin without the bruises and busted up lips and scars decorating the expanse of his back and chest. He draws the Jongin that he imagines would exist if he weren’t involved in gang life. This Jongin is a stranger, a mere figment of Sehun’s imagination, but Sehun is hopeful that someday the Jongin he pictures won’t only exist on paper anymore. 

One night, when everyone including Jongin has long gone off to bed, Sehun finds himself hunching over his sketchbook again, a cigarette smoked down to the tip pinched between his fingers. His fingers charcoal stained. 

The sketch is a simple drawing. It’s Jongin the night he told Sehun about Soojung; shadows and streaks of light and sparkling eyes when he smiles. Sehun draws himself in the space next to Jongin, lights another cigarette, and has no idea what the fuck he’s doing acting like some lovesick high schooler doodling herself and her crush at the top right corner of her notebook. It’s pathetic. 

“What are you doing, Sehun…” he asks himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“You’re in some deep shit, huh?” 

Sehun doesn’t even bother trying to hide the drawing as Baekhyun plops down beside him, rubbing at his tired eyes while Sehun takes a long drag off of his cigarette. “Yeah,” Sehun sighs, “yeah I am.” 

“Look at this shit,” Baekhyun laughs under his breath and picks the sketchbook up. “You’re like a modern day Picasso or something. Is this what you were going to school for?” 

“Nah, this is just a hobby.” Sehun flicks his ashes. There’s a pause. Embers crackle when Sehun takes another drag. “What’s it like?” 

“Hm?” 

“Loving someone who could be killed at any moment.” 

Baekhyun flips through the pages slowly, silently, and Sehun watches how his lips try to form the right words. 

“Honestly?” 

A nod. 

“It’s awful,” Baekhyun says. “I wake up every day with the thought that one of us will either get busted by the feds or have our brains blown out. Chanyeol and I have been lucky so far, but it won’t last forever. Luck runs out eventually, right?” 

“It does,” Sehun agrees, stubbing his cigarette out. 

“But, despite all of that, I wouldn’t change it,” there’s a smile slowly pulling the corner of Baekhyun’s mouth up. “Love isn’t easy to find for people like us, but I did.” 

Sehun remains quiet, lets Baekhyun’s words sink in. 

“It’s four in the morning, try to get some sleep.” 

When Sehun finally decides it’s time to sleep, the first place he goes to is Jongin’s bed. He glues himself to Jongin’s side, melts into the warmth, and sleeps the heaviest he’s slept since being here.

 

 

“Are you scared of dying?” 

“I wasn’t before.” 

“Are you now?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?” 

“Some lanky college kid came along and fucked me up.”

 

 

Everyone says you can’t stop love from happening. You can’t stop your heart from feeling something even if your brain is reminding you every day of the downsides. You brain and your heart can argue all they want, but the heart wins in the end. Sometimes it’s for the best and other times it leads you to do foolish things. 

Sehun is a fool. 

 

 

“What the fuck do you mean they’re getting close?” Jongin whispers harshly in the dead of the night. Sehun is in Jongin’s bed again, feigning sleep while Jongin paces back and forth, breathing heavily and tugging at his hair each time he runs his fingers through it. 

“How close, Taemin? Where were they last seen?” 

A sigh. Jongin continues pacing. 

Panic lodges itself in the back of Sehun’s brain. He can see how Jongin’s shoulders square out with tension, how his posture is anything but relaxed. His tone is tipped with ice, anger, and Sehun feels like a deer caught in headlights when Jongin glances over his shoulder to look at him. His breath catches; Jongin’s gaze softens. He turns his back to Sehun again, “No, let them come. I see one of them in our territory, they’re dead.” 

He hangs up and sighs before turning to look at Sehun once more. “You’re awake.” 

“So are you,” Sehun says. “Is everything okay?” 

Jongin’s throat bobs, “For now, yeah. C’mon, make some room.” 

Sehun scoots as Jongin settles in the spot next to him, and Sehun feels the traces of anxiety chip away. A protective arm wraps around his waist to pull him closer, bodies pressing together and the tips of their noses bumping. Sehun giggles. 

“Sehun,” Jongin whispers while he noses along Sehun’s cheek affectionately. 

“Yeah?” Sehun whispers back. 

“You trust me, right?” 

Sehun doesn’t hesitate, “Yes.” 

A sigh of relief falls from Jongin’s lips and he presses a quick kiss to Sehun’s cupid’s bow. “I’ll keep you safe. Promise.” 

Jongin sounds like he’s talking to himself more than anything. 

Sehun can only nod and scatter reassuring kisses along Jongin’s jaw and neck where he then buries his face and closes his eyes.

 

 

 

Morning brings sleepy kisses and hands ghosting down the length of his body, sliding south until he feels the light brush of Jongin’s fingers over his clothed cock. He blinks his eyes open and Jongin finally comes into view once his blurred vision fades. He’s staring down at Sehun with a hint of a smile and his eyes are hooded dangerously, cheeks pink and lips still swollen from having just woken up. 

“Morning,” Sehun mumbles, bringing his hand up to thread his fingers through Jongin’s messy hair. 

“Morning,” Jongin says back. He bumps Sehun’s temple with his nose gently and Sehun turns his head away, exposing the jut of his jaw and the side of his neck for Jongin to trail his lips down. It’s all soft, slow butterfly kisses that make Sehun feel warm all over, but down below is another story. 

Below the covers, Jongin has his hand slipping beneath Sehun’s sweats, beneath his underwear where he’s half-hard partially from morning wood, partially from Jongin’s ministrations. His lips are insistent against Sehun’s neck, slick and soft and fire spreads under Sehun’s skin each time Jongin nips along his jugular. 

“It’s too early for your teasing shit,” Sehun whines and Jongin laughs. 

“That so?”

Sehun pushes his hips up so that his cock brushes Jongin’s palm. “Yes, very much so.” 

Jongin curls his fingers around the base of Sehun’s cock and gives it a light squeeze before stroking upwards and squeezing at the head, thumb rubbing over the slit until a bead of precome forms. Sehun arches into the touch instantly, fingers digging into Jongin’s bicep and his head folding forward while Jongin jerks him slow and steady. 

“Better?” 

Sehun responds with a loud moan when Jongin strokes him faster. He knows when to change the speed, knows how to keep Sehun teetering at the edge, and all the while he’s doing that, he has his mouth busy bruising the hollow of Sehun’s throat when the younger tosses his head back and bites at his bottom lip. “You look so pretty when you’re about to come,” says Jongin, hand stilling so that Sehun’s cock is left twitching. 

“ _No_ , let me finish,” Sehun pouts. 

“Close?”

“ _Jongin_.”

He laughs softly, attaches his pretty lips to Sehun’s, and finishes Sehun off with talented flicks of the wrist. Sehun comes over Jongin’s knuckles, groaning into his mouth and fingers gripping harder into tanned skin. 

“Satisfied, princess?” Jongin asks. Sehun blushes madly when he licks the come from his hand as if it’s completely casual.

“You’re awful,” Sehun huffs. He kicks the covers away from his heated body and pushes his sweats and underwear down his legs, tossing them to the floor. “You can wash those for me since it’s your fault they’re now gross and sticky.”

Jongin tucks his hands behind his head and lets out a breath, “I’ll do that if you blow me.” 

Sehun feigns annoyance but really he’s more than happy to blow Jongin. There’s something about the heavy feeling of having Jongin on his tongue, tasting salt and skin, that he finds just as enjoyable as being on the receiving end. 

“Fine,” Sehun huffs. Jongin grins, satisfied. 

Sehun makes quick work of Jongin’s sweats and they end up joining his soiled ones on the floor, his boxers following suit a moment later. His cock curves toward his stomach, hard and thick, and Sehun swallows at the sight. 

“C’mon then, put your mouth to use. I know it’s a breathtaking view, but I wanna get off,” Jongin urges lowly, smirking almost arrogantly as he reaches down to grab the base of his dick. Sehun rolls his eyes. 

“Don’t get too full of yourself,” the younger chides before wrapping his mouth around Jongin’s tip, tongue flat on the underside. Above him, Jongin hums contentedly, eyes closing and his lips parted slightly as Sehun presses his tongue harder against the underside of the head, swirling it around all the way up until he reaches the slit. 

Since they’ve started messing around, Sehun made a quick discovery that blowing Jongin is a form of art all in its own terms. He likes them messy and lewd, likes how Sehun sounds hoarse by the time he’s finished, but the faces he pulls and the sounds he makes are so raw and beautiful that it’s easy for Sehun to lose focus on what he’s supposed to be doing. 

Like now. Jongin is starting to grow impatient with Sehun’s kittenish licks and opts for rolling his hips up instead, reaching down to tangle his fingers in Sehun’s hair so he can guide him down the length of his cock. When Sehun gags, Jongin eases up, moaning when Sehun’s throat constricts as he swallows. 

Each time Sehun pulls back, Jongin pushes his hips up to chase the heat, groans rumbling in his chest when Sehun sucks particularly hard at the head. “Fuck,” he curses and lifts his head to watch Sehun sink down his length again, lips shiny and red and stretching around him perfectly. 

“You look so good,” Jongin breathes. His head drops back when Sehun hums around him.

Sehun spreads his fingers across each of Jongin’s thighs to hold him down and breathes through his nose slowly, fighting off the urge to gag as he takes Jongin in all the way to the base. Curses roll off of Jongin’s tongue like he’s speaking a different language, feeding Sehun’s ego. 

“ _Shit_ , Sehun,” he moans and Sehun feels how Jongin’s throbs in his mouth, the bitter taste of precome blooming over his tongue. 

“Jongin are you—holy shit, sorry!” 

Jongin shoots up into a sitting position, using his body to block Sehun’s now red flushed face as Chanyeol laughs behind his hand in the doorway. “Goddamn it, learn to knock,” Jongin snaps. Sehun stays as still as possible, cheeks burning with embarrassment. 

“Hey Lu! We’re gonna have to wait, Jongin’s getting head!” And with that he closes the door, his laughter fading out as he makes his way back down the hall. 

Jongin flops back and sighs heavily while Sehun slowly starts up his rhythm again. “Fuck, I was so close. I’m gonna kick his ass.” 

Sehun pulls off so that only the flushed tip rests against the end of his tongue and he flicks it against the underside where he knows Jongin is really sensitive, watching Jongin’s mouth fall open, stomach clenching. “ _Fuck_ ,” he groans. 

His cheeks are flushed a shade of scarlet and there’s sweat forming at his brows and he’s panting heavily. Sehun tugs gently at Jongin’s balls a few times, earning another groan from the tanned male. He sinks his mouth down again, swallowing and humming just because he likes when Jongin squirms and tenses up, and continues to roll Jongin’s palms in his palm until another loud moan punctures the room. 

“Shit, _shit_. Sehun I—” Jongin’s saying, grabbing for the sheets with one hand and fisting Sehun’s hair with the other as his hips jerk involuntarily when he comes. 

Sehun swallows around him and he’s so satisfied with Jongin’s wrecked state when he finally releases him with an obscene _pop_. 

“Holy shit,” Jongin breathes, tugging Sehun up and forward so he can smash their lips together. Their tongues slide together and it’s filthy, but Sehun moans into Jongin’s mouth anyway and settles in his lap carefully. 

When they finally part, Jongin’s breathing is a bit harsh but his eyes are soft and filled with something that Sehun can’t put his finger on. 

“We should really shower,” Sehun whispers. 

An airy laugh passes through Jongin’s lips and he presses his forehead to Sehun’s, landing a light smack against the bare ass in his lap. “Yeah,” he agree, “yeah we should.” 

 

 

“Where are you going again?” 

“SHINee territory. Luhan thinks that they may have some information for us.” 

Sehun nods and leaves it at that. Jongin zips his pants up and grabs a shirt from their shared dresser. The drawers creak something awful when they’re opened and the wood looks worn from years of just sitting in the same spot collecting dust. Everything about this place is worn and old and dusty, and it only adds to how bright and pretty Jongin is in all of his toned and tanned glory. 

“Will you be safe?” Is Sehun’s next question, and then he realizes that he sounds just like his mother used to when his dad was getting ready to go out somewhere, anywhere. That would be the first question to leave her mouth.

His cheeks flush when Jongin glances up at him, eyes twinkling with amusement. “I mean… just, will you?” Sehun sighs. 

“Awe, look who’s worried about me,” Jongin teases as he strides over to stand in front of Sehun. He bends down to kiss the top of his head and Sehun hates how giddy the gesture makes him feel. 

“You have nothing to worry about,” Jongin assures with a smile, bright and beautiful. “I’ll come back safe and sound.”

Sehun wants to believe him, he really does, but that’s a promise that Jongin can’t keep his word on. Sooner or later ( _God_ , Sehun hopes later), Jongin will become another body to bury, and Sehun unfortunately pictures himself having to deal with the loss when it happens. 

It’s a sick feeling falling for someone who will be taken from him. It’s sick and foolish and Sehun should honestly pack up his shit and take the next cab back to his apartment in the dead of the night, but he won’t. He can’t. Here with Jongin is where he feels safe, where he feels everything all at once like some stupid novel character. 

“I know you will,” Sehun smiles back. 

 

 

He spends the day with Kyungsoo and Yixing. It’s Jongin’s doing as usual and it makes Sehun feel like a prisoner almost. Or like he has babysitters to take care of him. And while he gets that Jongin is protecting him, it’s still irritating to feel like he’s helpless, like he needs someone to save him. 

He doesn’t even know what they’re saving him from. 

Throughout all of the weeks that have easily transitioned into months, Jongin and everyone else has managed to keep Sehun in the dark. For what reason, Sehun doesn’t know. He assumes that Jongin is keeping his mouth shut for Sehun’s sake because he might not want to hear what the truth behind all of this is, but curiosity and anxiety and worry itch under his skin every day and he’s so tempted to scratch that itch. 

“I’m going to get something for us to eat,” Kyungsoo announces late in the afternoon. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m getting sick of living on toast.” He grabs his jacket from the coat rack by the door and slips it on, zipping it all the way up to the neck and pulling the hood up over his head.

“Be careful,” Yixing says. “You know what Jongin said.”

“Xing, it’s _me_ you’re talking to,” Kyungsoo gives Yixing a look. 

“I know, I know,” Yixing sighs, waving Kyungsoo off. 

The door shuts with a loud creak and silence falls over Sehun and Yixing. It’s a comfortable silence, thought, and Sehun thinks this is why he prefers Yixing over the others sometimes. Yixing is silent and zoned out for the most part, and it’s like he switches from normal human being to gangster like a light switch. He’s loyal to a fault, honest, and comforting to be around whereas his “other self”, as Sehun likes to call it, is brutal, merciless, and downright sadistic. 

But when he’s like this, quiet and calm and chilled out, he’s good company, especially for someone like Sehun who’s confused and brimming with fear. 

“Hyung, can I ask you something?” Sehun finally speaks and his voice sounds strained to his own ears. 

“Hm?” Yixing hums, brow raising. 

“What do I have to do with any of this? I mean, my dad was killed and there’s other families losing their shit or whatever—I get that, but why am I here exactly?” 

The look Yixing gives him is one that tells Sehun that he’s surprised that really has no clue where he ties into everything, as if it should be obvious to him. 

“Jongin really never told you?” 

Sehun shakes his head. 

“What a dumbass. We all told him it’d be better for you to know instead of keeping you in the dark about it,” he shakes his head, flicking the ashes off of his cigarette. 

“It’s like this,” Yixing continues, leaning forward. “You remember that bloodbath that went down in Busan?” 

Sehun vaguely recalls seeing the new reports. He remembers seeing countless body bags being hauled away behind the news reporter who had looked on edge the whole time she spoke of the massacre, eyes darting around as if she thought she would be the next one to be thrown into a body bag. 

“Yeah…” 

“Your father was responsible for that.”

And as if he was being kicked in the chest over and over, Sehun finds himself forgetting how to breath and bile rises in his throat. His hands are trembling by the time he feels tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. 

“That’s probably why Jongin didn’t want to tell you,” Yixing points out. 

Sehun laughs bitterly, “I’m the son of a monster. I think my reaction is pretty normal, don’t you?” 

Yixing shakes his head, “He wasn’t a monster. Sehun, that’s how this life is.” A sigh. “Your father had his reasons and it’s not my place to tell you. You should hear it from Jongin, okay?” 

Sehun can’t find the strength to protest. He’s pretty sure he’ll be sick if he hears anymore right now, he can already feel himself on the verge of an anxiety attack what with the shit floating around in his head. Yixing looks guilt stricken and in turn Sehun feels his own waves of guilt lap at his brain. 

“I’m okay,” he breathes, half lying. “Don’t look so guilty for my reactions, hyung. I was the one that asked.” 

Yixing offers him a warm smile, dimple melting directly in the middle of his cheek. “Here, you look like you need this,” he laughs and plucks a cigarette from the pack on the coffee table. Sehun takes it graciously and lets Yixing light him up. 

 

 

“He should be here by now,” Sehun says impatiently, nibbling at his non-existent nails and bouncing on the balls of his feet. He’s been staring at the door for what feels like hours, eyes ready to burn holes through the chipped wood. Everyone else had returned hours ago, safe, unharmed, but Jongin, Chanyeol, and Luhan were nowhere to be found and the sun had dipped below the horizon hours ago. 

“They’re okay. Chanyeol would’ve texted me if something was wrong,” Baekhyun sounds like he’s trying to reassure himself more than Sehun. 

Despite the fact that Jongin is smart, strong, and knows what he’s doing because crawling the streets has been his whole life, Sehun can’t fight down the panic that flutters through his chest painfully. The clock hanging in the kitchen ticks loudly in his ear, time chipping away second after second, and still no Jongin. 

Seconds fade into minutes and minutes fade into hours. Sehun paces from the tattered couch over to the window to peek through the blinds at least thirty-six times in that time frame. Worry and trepidation weigh heavy on his shoulders and twists tight in his chest, and nothing any of the guys are saying puts his mind at ease. 

Jongin could be dead for all he knows. 

“It’s nice seeing you like this,” Zitao hums and Sehun looks at him like he’s fucking crazy. 

“How is this _nice_?” Sehun doesn’t mean to snap. 

Zitao laughs breathily, eyes casting downward, “I meant seeing that Jongin has someone that cares about him to this extent.” 

“I care about him so much that I’m kicking his ass when he gets here,” Sehun huffs, not wanting to linger on the topic because Zitao sounds off and saddened more than anything. 

“He’ll come back. Jongin always does.” 

Sehun wants to believe Zitao but, as the lights in the other houses and apartments across the street start shutting off, he only finds himself doubting. He knows he should give Jongin more credit than this. 

They all wait around. Zitao, Yifan, and Jongdae all trudge off to their rooms somewhere around 1 A.M while Sehun, Baekhyun, Yixing, Kyungsoo, and Junmyeon all stay in the living room. When those three fall asleep on the couch, Yixing against Kyungsoo’s shoulder and Junmyeon’s head in Kyungsoo’s lap, only Baekhyun and Sehun remain wide awake.

They keep each other distracted, or they try to at least. Baekhyun tells Sehun about how he and Chanyeol got together and how Chanyeol used the worst pick-up line ever ( _“I’m no weatherman, but you can expect a few inches tonight,”_ ) and Sehun can only see how Baekhyun’s eyes glimmer with love and fondness when he speaks of his lover. 

“He was such a fucking idiot and he wasn’t my type at all,” Baekhyun’s giggling, cheeks flushed pink. “But he made me laugh until my stomach hurt and he had his own type of sex appeal.” 

Sehun lets out a genuine laugh, trying to picture Chanyeol and Baekhyun when they first started out together. They were probably more boyish looking back then, with baby fat still filling out their cheeks and their hair probably styled ridiculously. 

“You two fit together,” Sehun says. 

Baekhyun hums happily, “I agree. What about you and Jongin, though? Like, are you fucking or are you together?” 

“Oh uh, we’re… I’m not sure,” Sehun furrows his brows. “We haven’t talked about it.” 

They both stare at the door for a few minutes before Baekhyun clicks his tongue. “You want to be with him,” it’s more of a statement than a question or an assumption. 

The only response Sehun can give him is a shrug because he doesn’t know what he wants at all when it comes to Jongin. A majority of him wants Jongin, wants all of Jongin and the cute morning smiles and the silent, comforting gestures and the gross hand holding, but another part of him still wants to run when this is all over. 

“You think too much,” Baekhyun states, strolling back over to the window. “Jongin would have never made a move on you if you didn’t mean _something_ to him. After Soojung died, he didn’t let anyone in—not even us. He wouldn’t talk or cry or scream or anything. He got by on dry sarcasm and recklessness as a coping mechanism.” 

It’s hard to imagine Jongin— _his_ Jongin—like that. Not his Jongin in a possessive way because that’s still unestablished, but because he doesn’t know the Jongin that Baekhyun is speaking of.

Baekhyun turns to look at Sehun, arms crossed and his pursed. “It’s clear that both you and him want more from each other, you already act like a couple.” 

Sehun can’t deny that. God himself couldn’t deny that. 

“It’s just, I dunno. I always said I’d never repeat my mother’s mistakes but here I am,” Sehun lets out a breath.

Baekhyun turns away from the window and rests his back against it, arms still crossed as he eyes Sehun. “Well, you’ll just have to ask yourself if Jongin is worth the mistakes.” 

“It’s almost two in the morning,” Sehun changes the topic with a sigh, “where the hell could they be?” 

Baekhyun’s shrug is almost unnoticeable and the look in his eyes is distant, pleading, and Sehun knows they’re both expecting the worse right now. 

“We need coffee,” Baekhyun says a moment later, and Sehun agrees. 

 

 

Sehun is just about to fall into the depths of sleep when Jongin, Chanyeol, and Luhan burst through the door. He jerks his head away from Baekhyun’s shoulder and Baekhyun groans, rubbing at his eyes. “Yeol?” He asks groggily. 

Sehun, however, is frozen in place the minute he looks over. 

There’s blood dripping down Jongin’s chin, seeping from the split open area on his bottom lip and there’s a sick shade of purple blooming across his cheek. His arms are slung over Chanyeol’s and Luhan’s shoulders to keep him upright. Luhan is sporting a bleeding gash at the end of his left eyebrow and Chanyeol has a cut stretching along his cheek right under his cheekbone. 

Sehun is shaking like a leaf in the middle of a thunderstorm. A whole concoction of emotions whirls up inside of him; relief, fear, and anger overlapping one another and he can’t decide which he’s feeling more. 

“What the fuck.” He doesn’t mean to snap but _shit_. “What happened?” 

Luhan opens his mouth to say something but Jongin beats him to it, muttering a hoarse, “It doesn’t matter.” 

He removes his arms from around their shoulders and lifts his head to look at Sehun, “Can we go to bed? I’m wore out.” 

He brushes by Sehun slowly, face set in stone, jaw locked tight as he wipes at his chin with the back of his hand, and Sehun swallows his words. Now is not the time for him to lecture Jongin about coming home all battered up, his only concern is getting Jongin’s lip taken care of and getting him into bed because Sehun is so fucking relieved that he’s home with minor damage and he just wants to curl up against Jongin. 

“Night guys,” Sehun says over his shoulder before he follows Jongin down the hall. 

When Jongin goes to step into their room, Sehun places his hand on his shoulder and guides him to the bathroom. He silently gestures for Jongin to sit on the toilet while he wets a rag and grabs a bottle of antiseptic cream from the medicine cabinet. He makes sure to wash his hands thoroughly before going anywhere near Jongin’s mouth, and he thinks back to all of the times he would see his mother washing her hands before she’d patch up a scrape over his knee or elbow. 

He works in silence, applying pressure to Jongin’s lip until the bleeding stops before he dabs some antiseptic cream over the wound. His lip is starting to swell, making it thicker than usual, and Sehun wants to kiss it and make it swell more. Jongin’s pouty, cock sucking lips are an ultimate weakness so it’s really no surprise when his stare lingers. 

“Hey, nurse Sehun,” Jongin laughs airily, snapping his fingers. “You’re getting distracted.” 

Sehun pinks and clears his throat. “I was simply examining.” 

“Mhm,” Jongin doesn’t sound convinced. 

“Any good _nurse_ would, thank you.”

“Bullshit, you just wanna kiss me.”

“...Maybe.” 

Tearing his eyes away from Jongin’s mouth, Sehun glances up. Jongin’s eyes are narrowed dangerously and glued to Sehun’s lips now and when he cups Sehun’s jaw and runs the pad of his thumb over the pink swell, Sehun almost moans. This is not the time or place for that, he has to get a grip damnit. 

“I wanna kiss you,” Jongin breathes, leaning forward to slot his mouth over Sehun’s. 

And it’s not like Sehun can resist after craving for Jongin’s presence the whole day. He kisses back full of hesitation with his hands splayed against the side of Jongin’s legs to keep him balanced. Jongin makes it clear that he wants to kiss Sehun with no finesse, wants it sloppy and needy, but Sehun is reluctant on account of Jongin’s wound. 

“Jongin,” Sehun mumbles, pulling away. “Your lip. At least let the cream dry first, it tastes disgusting.” 

“Sharing is caring,” Jongin shrugs. 

Sehun scowls but there’s an underlying grin of amusement on his lips. He stands, “Let’s go to bed.” 

 

 

“What exactly happened?” Sehun asks quietly, drawing shapes against Jongin’s chest with the tip of his finger.

“It’s not important, really,” comes the reply. 

“It’s important to me, though. I mean, you can’t just come home like that and expect me not to want answers,” Sehun presses. He hadn’t expected that Jongin would give him an answer but he still felt that he should at least try. 

“It’s gang life. Fights happen over stupid shit, that’s all there is to it.” Jongin ends the statement with a sigh and Sehun can sense that he really doesn’t want to stay on the topic. Maybe Sehun should just leave it, maybe he’s better off not knowing what happened at all, but he still _wants_ to know. 

The next batch of words accumulating on his tongue leave a bad taste and a twinge of dread settling in his gut. He’s not sure how Jongin will react. The words will probably fall on deaf ears and Jongin will disregard the topic altogether, but this is something that Sehun _has_ to know about. 

“My father was responsible for that massacre in Busan.” 

He knows Jongin’s interest is piqued when the older holds his breath. He doesn’t speak, though. 

“I think I deserve to know why that and this has anything to do with me,” he continues weakly. The atmosphere starts to thicken and Sehun stumbles over his words. “You’ve kept me in the dark about this and I just want to know where I tie into all of this.” 

Sehun waits for Jongin’s response, counting each intake of breath and each exhale while the other wracks his brain for the proper words. He fears he might’ve irked Jongin or pissed him off, but that fear is put to rest when he glances up to see Jongin staring at the ceiling, features soft except for his furrowed brows. 

“When your father left you,” Jongin starts, “he had a reason. You probably harbored anger and resentment towards him for years, but he did it with good intentions.” Jongin turns his body toward Sehun more so that Sehun’s nose brushes against his chest, arm tightening around Sehun’s waist. 

“He didn’t want you growing up in this life because he wanted better for you, a life without having to worry about the shit he had to worry about,” he glances down then and Sehun nods in understanding. On the inside, he feels little pinpricks of guilt poking at him because, for five years, he felt nothing but hatred with longing buried underneath towards his father. He will not let Jongin know that, though. 

“So, when things on the streets started getting more serious and all of these new bloods started pouring in, he stated to everyone that he didn’t have any children and that he and your mother were separated. The only people that knew about you were his guys and very few close allies. Simple enough, right?” 

Sehun nods again. 

Jongin swallows, wets his lips. “It worked all the way up until your father killed off a certain Min Yoongi. Yoongi was part of Bangtan, a newbie gang that was quickly working their way to the top of the hierarchy and they’re all complete loose cannons. One of their members—Kim Taehyung, I think?—was locked up in an asylum for nearly a year. The cops stopped trying to even arrest Jung Hoseok because he’s a damn good escapists and they can’t keep his ass in prison.” 

Sehun’s throat suddenly feels very tight and he’s growing very anxious. 

He notices how Jongin start clenching his jaw between sentences, as if speaking of these Bangtan members made his blood boil. 

“Anyway, Yoongi crossed your father. It was clear that, in Seoul, your father was one of the most respected bosses. He was liked by everyone and had very few enemies that weren’t outsiders. As soon as Bangtan got here and saw that all of the power was in your father’s palm, they wanted to take their place as the most powerful and do away with him. To make the story short, Yoongi was stupid and fucked with the wrong man. He and Bangtan fled back to Busan after his failed murder attempt and so your father gathered up all of our allies and cleaned out all of Bangtan’s allies,” Jongin pauses to smile almost sadistically. “His next target was Bangtan.” 

With each word, Sehun feels himself grow more and more restless. 

“He sent Luhan and Yixing to keep an eye on Bangtan’s headquarters. He knew that if they were going to go out that they’d leave Yoongi behind and keep him hidden. That was their second mistake,” he looks Sehun in the eyes again. “He put a bullet right through the center of Yoongi’s head, a perfect shot through the window. Your father had impeccable aiming skills.” 

“This is so awful…” Sehun exhales shakily. 

“No, what’s awful is the fact that Park fucking Jimin is sneaky enough that he planted a recorder in our house. Seokjin wanted revenge on your father over Yoongi’s death, wanted some dirt on him, and that’s how he got it. Your father mentioned you a few times in the recording and before he was killed, Seokjin mentioned to him that he’d be paying his precious son a visit.” Jongin’s eyes waver, and Sehun can’t decipher whether it’s anger or just the thought of someone harming him that causes it.

“That’s how you tie into this. You’re a target, Sehun. Bangtan are still looking for you and they want you dead just to make you pay for your father’s doings. They’re thirsty for bloodshed and hungry for revenge,” Jongin says so quietly that Sehun almost misses it. 

He’s numb for a long while, feeling nothing but a carved out spot in his chest where his heart aches and races. Tears sting at his eyes and clog up his throat and he’s fucking _scared_. Somewhere right at this very moment, there are gangsters plotting his death, discussing ways to mangle his body and what river to throw all of his leftover parts in. It’s a terrible, awful, gut-wrenching fear to know this and all he can do is bury his face against Jongin’s bare chest as his shoulders begin to shake uncontrollably. 

“I don’t want to die,” he sobs. 

Jongin shushes him, threading his fingers through Sehun’s hair and rubbing circles into the small of his back as he attempt to calm the sobbing boy down. 

Sehun had never given death much thought. He wasn’t like Jongin or any of the other guys here. He didn’t run around on stupid drug trades and kidnappings and raids, never played with his life in such dangerous ways as if he could care less whether he lived to see another day or not. 

But now, with the heavy burden of knowing that people want him dead, he decides that he really does not want to die. He wants to wake up tomorrow in a different place wrapped in white linen sheets, the sun pouring in through the window, and Jongin beside him. 

He feels so small in Jongin’s arms, so fragile and breakable. 

“Sehun,” Jongin murmurs softly. “Sehun. I’m not going to let anything happen to you, okay?” 

“It’s impossible to protect anyone in this life,” Sehun blubbers. “If it were possible then maybe Minseok would still be here,” he repeats Luhan’s words. 

Jongin continues shushing him, rocking him, and playing with his hair. He stays completely quiet for the most part but the silence is nice, and Jongin provides enough distraction that he slowly calms down. 

“I’m kind of awful at comforting people when they cry,” a small laugh slips through Jongin’s lips. “I never know what to do.” 

It’s the most helpless Sehun’s ever heard him. Looking up, Sehun can’t help but smile, not caring that his face is probably blotchy and swollen with tears streaking down his cheeks. “You’re doing enough.” 

Jongin swipes his thumb under Sehun’s eye and proceeds to curl his fingers against his jaw, pulling him forward. Their lips meet for the briefest of moments before Jongin’s mumbling, “You know I’m serious, right? I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

Sehun nods and chases Jongin’s mouth instead, preferring kissing over anything else. He needs the distraction and he can’t think of anything more distracting than Jongin’s lips. He’s sure Jongin can taste the salt from his tears but he kisses back slow and languid, hand sliding down to cup Sehun’s nape. 

There’s no stopping the way that Sehun melts into the kiss, heart fluttering nervously and his lips molding together with Jongin’s like they’re supposed to be connected. And maybe they are. Sehun likes to think that they are and that the only pair of lips that should be paired with his are Jongin’s. 

Jongin coaxes Sehun’s mouth open by sliding his tongue along the seam of Sehun’s lips. It doesn’t take a lot of coaxing and the soft, wet slide of Jongin’s tongue against his has him moaning to even his own surprise. Blushing, he breaks the kiss to giggle, and Jongin laughs, too. 

“How cute,” Jongin teases quietly before he dips his head back down to reattach his mouth to Sehun’s. 

This kiss is different. It’s every bit languid as the last, but now Jongin is slotting his leg between Sehun’s thighs and he shifts above the younger until he’s laying flat on top, forearms bracketing Sehun’s head. Their foreheads press together, noses brushing as Jongin drags his lips down and away from Sehun’s. Tipping his head back, Sehun feels a searing heat spread over the front of his throat when Jongin skims his teeth over the skin there, smoothing it over with slow flicks of his tongue. He doesn’t stop there—oh no, he continues heading south to Sehun’s clavicles where he spends time decorating each with a bruise that will be dark red and purple by morning. 

Sehun knows where this is leading. There’s a dull stir of arousal between his legs as he feels himself harden under Jongin’s weight and, when Jongin shifts his position so that his leg brushes Sehun’s cock, Sehun gasps and digs crescents into the tops of Jongin’s shoulders. 

“Should I stop, Sehun? If you’re not ready for this, tell me now,” Jongin says, sounding hoarse. 

Shaking his head, Sehun swallows down that claws at the back of his throat when Jongin drops a kiss to Sehun’s abdomen. “I want this. Please, don’t stop,” Sehun pleads breathlessly. 

He hears Jongin swallow thickly, “I’ll be right back.” 

Sehun whines in protest, fingers wrapping around Jongin’s wrist, “Where are you going?”

“To steal lube and condoms from Baekhyun and Chanyeol.” 

He leaves Sehun blushing and giggling, more so when Sehun notices the outline of Jongin’s cock straining against his pajama bottoms. 

His heart is still doing this weird, fluttery thing and the nerves start kicking in a moment later as he stares up at the ceiling. His pulse is hammering in his throat and he thinks he might burst from the overwhelming amount of butterflies in his stomach. He feels his face burning hotter and he slaps his hand against his forehead. 

This is it, he tells himself. It’s as good a time as any. 

Jongin returns a moment later, wiggling the bottle of lube in one hand and a condom in the other. Sehun colors more at the sight of the two items. 

The bed squeaks as Jongin situates himself between Sehun’s legs again. He wastes no time in trying to rid him of his clothes and Sehun lifts his hips up as Jongin pulls both his pajamas and boxers down before he moves to push his own off and on to the floor. His cock hangs heavy between his legs and Sehun tries to imagine how it’ll feel inside of him. 

“Spread your legs,” Jongin tells him. 

Sehun has to bite his lip to keep from groaning, legs falling open easily while Jongin pops the cap on the lube and drizzles a generous amount onto the pads of his fingers. It’s a shock of cold mixed with pleasure as he traces around Sehun’s rim to slick him up, and Sehun lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

The blunt tip of Jongin’s finger breeches past the tight muscle and, inch by slow inch, he pushes the digit inside. The stretch is light and the stinging sensation isn’t unbearable, but Sehun thinks it will be a whole different story when it comes to Jongin’s cock. 

“Okay?”

Sehun nods, “Keep going.” 

And Jongin does. He works his finger in and out of Sehun until the discomfort fades and Sehun starts needing to be filled and stretched more. Two fingers in and Jongin scissors him open slowly, fingers brushing up against Sehun’s prostate every time he crooks them the right way, pulling moans and mewls out of the boy under him. 

When Sehun starts scrambling for purchase in the sheets, Jongin withdraws his fingers and tears the condom open. Sehun watches with labored breathing, feeling sweat starting to form at the base of his skull and his cock twitching with arousal, needing to be touched. Jongin rolls the condom on and slicks himself up before he pushes Sehun’s legs back to spread him open on full display, leaving Sehun to squeak in embarrassment. 

“ _Jongin_ , stop staring..” 

“How?”

“Oh my God, will you just— _oh_ ,” Sehun drawls as Jongin presses inside. 

The stretch and the burn are much more intense, but Sehun can handle it, and Jongin isn’t in a rush to fill him up. 

However, when he is fully seated inside and panting heavily, Jongin loses his composure and finds himself leaning his forehead against Sehun’s again. “Fuck, you feel so good, Sehun.” 

Sehun blinks and runs his hands up the length of Jongin’s sides as he brings his legs up to wrap around Jongin’s waist. The feeling of having Jongin inside of him finally is a bit overwhelming to the point that Sehun can’t pinpoint what it is that he’s feeling, but all he knows is that he can’t stop staring at the gorgeous man hovering above him, grinding his hips into him slowly so that Sehun can adjust. 

The urge to cling to Jongin is hard to fight off. Sehun wants this experience to be as close as possible, wants to hold Jongin captive in his limbs and kiss him until he’s fighting for oxygen to fill his lungs. 

“Jongin… move, please,” Sehun whimpers, turning his head to bury it in Jongin’s neck. 

The smell of Jongin’s shower gel and musk fill his nostrils and it’s arousing. Jongin presses his face against the side of Sehun’s head, pants and moans getting lost in Sehun’s hair as he pulls out and pushes back in. Sehun can’t see Jongin’s face, but he can feel the hot puffs of air fanning against the side of his face, almost muted moans somewhere under it all. 

It certainly is not what Sehun expected from Jongin. Maybe it’s because this is Sehun’s first time and he wants it to be special or something, but Sehun definitely expected Jongin to be the complete opposite of this. Jongin moves rhythmically, fluidly, and easily like he’s dancing. Sehun supposes the skills are something he should expect considering that Jongin is older and has been around the block once or twice, but the way he rolls his hips and fucks into Sehun deep and slow is another level of skill that has him whining high-pitched and shameless. 

He has nothing to compare this moment to, but he’s already positive that no one else will ever fuck him this good. 

Hands slide down the length of Jongin’s sweat-slick back to his ass where Sehun gropes and keeps his hands there, feeling plump flesh and muscle flex with every thrust. His cock throbs between their stomachs, his balls tight with the need to release. 

“Close,” Jongin mumbles, lifting his head to stare down at Sehun. 

The moment is so intimate and raw and no one besides them exists. Their moans and gasps and whines all mesh together, the obscene _smack_ of skin slapping skin acting as a background noise as Jongin pounds into Sehun harder. Sliding his hands up to Jongin’s sides, Sehun digs his nails in, arching up, and all it takes for him to come untouched is Jongin’s stomach brushing under the crown of his leaking cock. 

“Ah, fu— _Jongin_ ,” he moans frantically, unable to get a complete sentence out as he shoots up his chest, clenching down on Jongin from the intensity of his orgasm. There’s three words hanging on his tongue and he tries pushing them into Jongin’s mouth when kisses him so he gets it.

Jongin fills the condom not long after, hips jerking to their own accord and a moan passing from his mouth to Sehun’s. 

They stay like that after. They stay tangled up in each other, sharing kisses and tired giggles, bodies trembling and slick with a sheen of sweat. 

After they’ve come down and Jongin has discarded the condom, they spoon, Sehun’s back to Jongin’s front—which is _great for a quick morning fuck_ , according to Jongin. 

Sehun’s falls asleep with one thought on his mind. 

_I fucking love him. God, I really fucking love him._

 

 

Sehun wakes up warm and so happy that he thinks his smile could split his face in half. Jongin’s skin is like warm silk against him, arm still around Sehun’s waist and his face buried between Sehun’s shoulder blades. 

Despite all of the happiness he’s feeling, there’s something in his gut that tells him that something is off—something that makes him feel like this is the calm before the storm. 

 

 

It happens before any of them can react. 

The window shatters. A bullet pierces right through Yixing’s right shoulder and he stumbles, slapping his hand over the wound. Red seeps through his fingers as he loses balance and falls to his knees, mumbling that he’s fine when he’s not. 

Sehun thinks that must have been a warning because not even two minutes later, someone kicks the door in, wood breaking splintering apart to reveal a baby faced man with broad shoulders almost as wide as the door frame. Baby faced as he may be, his eyes are red with anger, and Sehun’s blood runs cold in his veins when those eyes land on him. Fear grips him in a choke hold. 

Behind him, five other men step inside. They all sport dark brown hair apart from two who sport different shades of blond. Their expressions are blank but they have their fingers fitted against the triggers of their guns, ready to aim and fire and kill in a second. 

“You Oh Sehun?” Broad shoulders asks. Sehun freezes. His mouth opens and closes, no words forming because he’s frozen with fear, bits and pieces of his life flashing before his eyes and the memory of warm skin and silent declarations of love chipping away. 

No one moves, no one speaks. 

Beside him, Jongin breathes harshly through his nose. His hand finds Sehun’s and he doesn’t miss another beat, lacing their fingers together and holding Sehun’s hand hard as if he was providing him with a lifeline. 

Luhan is on his other side clenching and unclenching his fists. All of his focus is on Yixing who’s gushing blood everywhere, his eyes fluttering as he fades in and out of consciousness. 

“I asked you a question, dumb fuck,” the man stands in front of Sehun now, bumping the muzzle of his gun against Sehun’s forehead. 

Sehun feels so dizzy he thinks he might pass out. “I—I’m… I didn’t d—” he stutters, voice wavering uncontrollably. He’s going to be sick. 

The second time he bumps his gun against Sehun’s head, Jongin snaps. 

“Look Seokjin, I know you’re all hung up over your boyfriend’s death and all, but if you don’t get your gun away from his head I’m going to have you splattered all of this goddamn room.” The way he speaks is eerily calm, but the bite and anger behind the words sends a shiver down Sehun’s spine. 

Seokjin averts his attention to Jongin, “Need I remind you that you already have a man down?” 

Jongin smirks, “Need I remind you that you only got his shoulder. If your aim didn’t suck maybe Yixing would be dead, hm?” 

“You don’t have to make this hard,” Seokjin says sweetly, his cute boyish grin making this more twisted than it already is. “I only want him.” 

Sehun is trying so hard not to start sobbing. All he wants to do is climb in Jongin’s lap and be reassured that everything was going to be okay. 

“No.” 

“Alright then,” Seokjin sighs, looking over at the rest of his men. “Guys, you know what we discussed.” 

Yixing is slumping over now, too weak from the blood loss to keep himself up anymore. Sehun can hear the pathetic, swallowed down sobs that Luhan tries not to make. This is the first time he’s seen Luhan crumble and it’s something he never wanted to see in the first place. 

“Kill them.” 

Someone cocks a gun. 

Everything is happening in slow motion again, voices around him swirling up and jumbling together, and Jongin still has their hands clasped tight but it’s not enough to keep Sehun grounded. 

“Namjoon, go check the other rooms.”

Behind him, he can hear heavy footsteps. They echo and fade out as this Namjoon person obliges Seokjin’s orders. _Chanyeol and Baekhyun_ , Sehun’s mind screams, tears rimming around his eyes. He hears Namjoon kick their door in, flinching when he bellows at them to get the fuck up and out to join everyone. 

“Hmm,” Seokjin hums. “Where should we start? How about with you?” He turns, pointing his gun at Kyungsoo who stares blankly back at him. Kyungsoo looks like he’s sitting through some boring ass lecture, like having death stare him in the face doesn’t phase him. 

“Or you? I’d hate to ruin such a pretty face, though,” he sighs and Zitao’s fists clench. 

“I think I’ll start with this one,” his attention is on Yixing again. He brings his gun up, closes one eye to get a better aim, and presses ever so slightly on the trigger. 

Luhan jumps up and from the corner of his eye Sehun can see that he has his hands on his dagger. He presses the pointed tip against Seokjin’s temple, body trembling with anger and desperation, voice shaking when he speaks. 

“You pull the trigger and this knife goes through your fucking skull. I’ve taken out an entire family all on my own, don’t think I can’t kill you all in one go and smile while I’m doing it.” 

An almost demented laugh fills the tense room. “You talk as if I haven’t been waiting to die,” says Seokjin. His stare is dead as he looks at Luhan. And then he pulls the trigger while looking Luhan in the eyes and Luhan doesn’t hesitate in jamming his knife through Seokjin’s head. 

A sob catches in Sehun’s throat. The bullet from Seokjin’s gun misses Yixing’s head by not even an inch.

Before Seokjin’s body can fall to the floor, Luhan grabs his gun from his lifeless hands and aims it at the other blond one, and his eyes look wild like he can’t wait to put a bullet in someone’s head. Seokjin hits the floor with a thud. His eyes look the same. 

“Awe, what’s the matter Taehyung? Gonna miss your hyung?” Luhan pouts. 

Taehyung doesn’t answer. A sick smile twists onto his face and all it takes is one look for the members of Bangtan to spring into action. The first thing that registers in Sehun’s head is that Jongin is no longer holding his hand, sending a wave of anxiety into his veins as he watches Jongin get forced onto his feet by Namjoon. 

Taehyung lunges for Luhan, ducking just in time to miss Luhan’s bullet, and ends up pinning Luhan to the ground. Luhan may be quick, but Taehyung is more built, easily keeping Luhan pinned even as he squirms and bucks and tries to knee Taehyung in the balls. 

Sehun watches as another man busts both Kyungsoo and Junmyeon in the back of their heads with his gun, knocking them both unconscious before he directs his attention to Yifan and Zitao. Zitao is quick like a cat and pushes Yifan out of the way just as the gun is fired off, the bullet piercing Zitao’s bicep where it would’ve pierced Yifan’s neck had he not acted quick. 

It’s chaos around him. Guns and threats and yelling and it has Sehun curling in on himself, hands pressing over his ear in a futile attempt to block out the noise as he screws his eyes shut. If they’re all going to die here, he doesn’t want to see it. He can only hope that he’s dead before Jongin. 

Behind him, Chanyeol and Baekhyun are whispering to each other and Sehun picks up on how Baekhyun’s voice is unsteady and laced with uncertainty. Beside him, Jongin has a knife at his throat and he’s fighting Namjoon off with all he’s got, struggling to breathe with Namjoon’s forearm pressing against the front of his throat. Sehun doesn’t know what to do, so he clings onto false hope that they’ll make it out of this alive and keeps his eyes on the pool of blood around Seokjin’s body. 

Something moves quick out of the corner of his eye. Sehun sees a flash of a blood covered hand and he can’t believe how quick Yixing is despite his amount of blood loss. He grabs the gun that had been flung across the room when Taehyung pinned Luhan down and shoots it without question. Blood splatters all over Luhan’s face and Taehyung’s body is quite literally a dead weight on top of him. 

Yixing kicks the body away and pulls Luhan up, flinching and grasping at his shoulder again. Luhan, despite having a face covered with blood, smashes his lips to Yixing’s and grips his face so tight that Sehun sees his knuckles turn white. He can see relief wash over both of the two men and he swears he can see tears gathering in Luhan’s eyes. 

“I can’t lose you,” Luhan murmurs brokenly.

Oh.

_Oh._

Sehun gets it, and his heart aches. 

Jongin. 

He can’t lose Jongin. 

Something in that moment snaps inside of him. It’s like an out of body experience when he leans forward and takes the gun from Yixing’s shaking hand and he honestly has no fucking clue how to shoot a gun and the chance of him shooting Jongin instead of Namjoon is very likely, but he has to do something. 

He’s not letting this gangster bullshit take another person away from him, especially not Jongin. 

His hands are shaking too bad to even hold the gun properly, but he cocks it and aims it and prays that this works out in his favor. He closes one eye and breathes in. Breathes out. Jongin looks like he’s losing consciousness. 

His fingers are on the trigger. 

Fire. 

Blood sprays on Jongin’s cheek and across his forehead.

Sehun is twenty and has just taken the life of another person. 

The gun feels heady in his hands and he lets it drop to the floor, crumbling to his knees to sob. Jongin collapses next to him, gasping and coughing as air rushes back into his lungs, and he slides his hand over to rest on top of Sehun’s. Hot tears fall on to the floor, shoulders shaking and sobs wracking his body as he scoots closer to Jongin and buries his face against his neck.

Jongin is breathing and holding his hand and Sehun doesn’t think he’ll ever feel so relieved again. 

More gunshots sound off. Three more bodies fall to the floor. 

Every member of Bangtan is dead. 

Sehun glances around at the bloodbath. Zitao leans against Yifan, eyes distant as he stares down at the body of the man he had saved Yifan from. Yixing and Luhan haven’t parted from each other and Baekhyun is clinging onto Chanyeol as if trying to make sure he’s still really here. They both have guns in their hands. 

Sehun will have to thank them. 

“What the fuck, I always miss the fun!” Jongdae says as he steps in the doorway. 

“Next time, Dae. Next time,” Yixing says, smiling. “C’mon, let’s take care of Kyungsoo and Junmyeon.” 

“And your shoulder,” Luhan reminds him. 

 

 

“How the hell did you end up being the one to save me?” Jongin asks once they’re alone getting cleaned up. The blood is gone from his face. 

Sehun shrugs, “Because I.” Fumbles with his words. “I love you. Because I love you.” 

He thinks Jongin is about to reject him because he goes quiet and rigid, pausing in the middle of zipping a clean pair of pants up. 

“What.” 

This time, Sehun looks him in the eyes and repeats himself. “I love you.” 

Jongin crosses the room in two steps. His hands find Sehun’s face and their lips meet when he tugs Sehun forward at the same time he presses forward. It’s all the confirmation Sehun needs. 

“I love you, too. So much,” Jongin says against Sehun’s lips. Sehun wants to kiss Jongin forever, he thinks that would be the best way to live his lifetime. 

“Sehun. Sehun, will you leave with me? We can get out of here. Runaway with me,” Jongin blurts out with a smile so wide and beautiful that Sehun’s heart skips. 

There’s no hesitation when Sehun says, “Okay.”


End file.
